


In These Frozen and Silent Nights

by Sarah_hadeschild



Series: Amator Meae [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, First Christmas, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Gift Giving, Hanukkah, Jewish Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, holiday decorating, it's their first holiday together y'all!, the whole thing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28002036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_hadeschild/pseuds/Sarah_hadeschild
Summary: A series of vignettes from Aziraphale and Crowley's first holiday together. Fluff, decorating, and Hallmark cliches ensue.Sequel to "Can I be close to you?" (Can also be read as a stand-alone work)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Amator Meae [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032978
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. December 10th

Crowley looked so peaceful when he slept. 

He hated being told that, Aziraphale knew, but it was true, so he told him anyway. He liked the way he always wrinkled his nose in response, as if he could think of nothing substantial in his defence.

He also told him that he was good. Crowley fought that compliment even more. 

_It’s like he has no idea,_ Aziraphale thought, moving to brush a mop of hair from Crowley’s forehead. _He has no idea what he is to me._

He would simply have to make him see.

Crowley sniffed, feeling for Aziraphale’s arm with his hands, his eyes determinedly shut. “Morning, Angel.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

The demon snorted, moving to cover his face with his hands. “Not this again. It’s far too early.”

“It’s nearly 10am!”

“Too soon.”

“But it’s Christmas!”

“It’s December 10th.”

Aziraphale sighed, doing his best to sound annoyed. “It’s Christmas _time.”_

Crowley moved closer, opening his eyes at last as his head settled against Aziraphale’s bare shoulder. “I’ll give you that.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the demon’s temple. “Thank you, my dear.”

It still felt so new— the mornings spent in bed with Crowley. Only weeks ago Aziraphale had been concocting excuses for them to sleep together— to _touch._ And now there was no pretence between them. When Crowley wanted Aziraphale, he reached for him. 

And the angel could deny him nothing.

He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair, appreciating the tangled waves. “Why do you dislike the holidays so much?”

“I don’t… _dislike_ them…exactly.”

“Then why all of the humbuggery then?”

Crowley quirked a rather condescending eyebrow. “Did you honestly just use the word humbuggery?”

“Crowley—”

“You’d better watch your tongue, the Almighty doesn’t like that sort of—”

“Do shut up, my love.” Crowley flashed a sideways smile and Aziraphale wanted to kiss it. “You know what I mean.”

He sighed, nestling into Aziraphale’s side. His hands felt cold and Aziraphale began warming them with his own. “I do. It’s not the holidays, Angel. I like them. Christmas, Ramadan…I’ve had some memorable Hanukkahs over the years, don’t get me wrong. I just haven’t celebrated in a while.”

“Why not?”

Crowley flashed him a knowing look, his yellow eyes intense and very much awake.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale.

“Right.”

They’d been talking about it a lot lately— solitude. It seems that Crowley has had lifetimes of it. All those years Aziraphale had resisted inviting Crowley to every occasion under the sun, believing that he had his own crew of stylish and demonic friends to keep company with. But it turns out, Aziraphale had been gravely mistaken. 

All this time that Aziraphale had been thinking about Crowley, Crowley had been missing him even more.

His hands now warm, Crowley put a stop to Aziraphale’s efforts by lacing their fingers together. “I’m happy to do whatever you’d like for the holidays, Angel. I’ll follow your lead.”

“But what do you want to do, Crowley?”

He’d been asking that question a lot, lately. Asking Crowley what he wants to eat, where he’d like to go— and he didn’t ask simply for the answers he gave. He did it to let Crowley know that it was ok to want around him. To trust Aziraphale to safeguard his needs as Crowley did his.

Too many times the demon had simply looked away. 

Aziraphale faced him now. “I just want you to be happy, my dear.”

Crowley looked away as he often did when he was overwhelmed. “I am. ‘course I am.”

Aziraphale smiled, tugging Crowley into a kiss. The slide of their lips was lazy and slow and endless. When Crowley pressed against him, kissing him firmly with a hand in his hair, Aziraphale knew what it meant.

Sometimes words are not enough.

When they parted at last, their noses touching atop the pillow, Aziraphale tried once more. “I think a menorah would look lovely on our dining table, wouldn’t you agree?”

Crowley nodded, images of latkes and Sufganiyot filling his mind so sharply he could smell them.

“Now, obviously I have your Hanukkah gifts already—”

Crowley frowned. “Obviously?”

“Yes dear, obviously. But I hope you won’t object to me getting you a gift for the 25th as well?”

“Don’t see the harm in it.”

“Good. Now…” Aziraphale leaned forward conspiratorially. “What would you like for Christmas?”

Crowley stifled a laugh. “You’re never going to stop with that, are you?”

“Afraid not.”

He thought about it a moment— or at least pretended to— before answering him. “All I—”

“—you know I love you, but if you dare quote that heinous song again, I am going to discorporate with rage.”

Crowley grinned at him, triumphant. “You. Just you. And at least _some_ Mariah Carrey, if you can bear it.”

 _“Fine.”_

Crowley arched upwards to trail a line of kisses down Aziraphale’s jawline in approval.

Aziraphale drew him down for another kiss. “I can’t wait to celebrate the holidays with you.”

Crowley turned, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s palm. The look he gave him was enough to melt glaciers. “I can’t wait to do _everything_ with you.”


	2. Deck the Halls

Although it was only the 14th of December (which, in Crowley’s mind, was still a bit early), the Christmas tree lot was packed with eager shoppers and their families. Children darted in and out of the crowds in search of the perfect tree while music emanated from strategically-hidden speakers along the footpaths. 

They had been there for nearly an hour, and Crowley felt certain that Michael Bublé had been playing for most of it.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale was completely engrossed in his quest to locate the perfect Christmas tree for the bookshop. He patrolled the aisles of the lot like a soldier on parade, devoting his entire attention to the task.

 _‘Nothing too tall for the space, and nothing sparse either.’_ He had said.

Sounded like him, in Crowley’s opinion.

The demon tugged at the collar of his sweater, pulling it tighter as they walked around the lot. Aziraphale had given it to him that day— one of several Hanukkah presents that so far included cologne, a Queen album, and a delightfully full bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which made Crowley want to run home immediately to fetch a glass. The sweater was warm and toasty, as well as a fine shade of blue. He knew immediately that it was intended as one of those ugly holiday sweaters that the humans had become so obsessed with, but he couldn’t quite agree that it was ugly. The candles in the menorah sparkled with golden thread, which made it all the more impressive that Aziraphale had made it himself.

“I’m sure we’ll find something soon,” Aziraphale assured him, pulling his own coat collar higher. “You aren’t cold, are you?”

Crowley shook his head. “Nope. In fact, I find it a bit warm.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Well you don’t have to wear the sweater if you’re—”

“I’m wearing the sweater.”

Suddenly, Aziraphale came to a halt in front of a tall pine tree. He inspected the branches, frowning when he saw a rather conspicuous hole near the back of it. But of course, such things could easily be concealed by a corner. “What do you think, dear?”

“Hmm,” was all the response Crowley could manage. 

The demon had located a tree of his own. With his back turned to the angel, he knelt down to inspect its base. Some of the needles near the bottom were shook free as he moved it, a pale brown littering the stones beneath it. But the upper-half looked healthy and green; in spite of its mangey appearance, health had not left it entirely. 

There was still time to save it.

“You’re thinking that you want to rescue that one, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked, peering down at him.

“I think I could,” said Crowley, twisting to see the back of it. “Yeah, I know I could.”

“Good,” said Aziraphale. “Let’s take it.”

“You sure, Angel? Yours looks a lot better.”

“Yes, but yours needs love. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

The scoff Crowley gave him could likely be heard streets over, but there was a sincerity to his eyes that erased all malice. “If you insist.”

Aziraphale reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m afraid I do, rather.”

The tree, it seemed, was the only thing that had been truly lacking in the bookshop, since Aziraphale’s ornament collection rivalled any exhibit the Smithsonian might be able to drum up on the subject. 

Aziraphale was a bit of a hoarder. If a ‘bit of a hoarder’ meant Someone Who Buys Every Decoration With A Bit Of Glitter and Keeps Them Forever.

“Is that the last box, dear?”

Crowley deposited the box onto the floor and nodded before slumping across the armchair to catch his breath. “Yes, the Christmas Crawl Space is now officially empty.”

“You have got to stop calling it that.”

“Fine, what is it then?”

“A crawl space.”

“…a crawl space that’s filled with Christmas decorations.”

“And other things, too.”

“Right, right. A crawl space that’s filled with Christmas decorations as well as a strand of white lights and a folding tray table.”

The angel hummed bitterly and began inspecting the state of his manicure. “That’s correct.”

Crowley looked around, studying the angel’s progress. Garlands wound through the rungs of the ancient staircase and lay strewn atop doorframes adorned with red velvet ribbons. Nutcrackers stood at attention on the edges of furniture, and the table was topped with a shiny new menorah. Even the book spines appeared more festive as the red and green decorations pulled out the vibrance of their bindings and golden letters all the more.

The bookshop looked more festive than the elegant window displays on Oxford Street.

In the background, a small fire burned in the hearth. Crowley forced himself to ignore the combined scent of embers and old books, choosing instead to focus on Aziraphale and the attention he paid to each and every ornament he hung.

“Do you think we might have overdone it?” Asked Crowley, as Aziraphale hung the third golden nightingale on the tree.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied.

Crowley retrieved a glass-blown ornament from the box that looked suspiciously like a stack of books and hung it near the top. “Just that…won’t customers get distracted by all the decoration and forget about the books?”

Aziraphale raised a hand thoughtfully to his chin. “So what you’re saying is that I could very well have such a splendidly decorated home that customers might forget to look at my books, thereby leaving me with my entire collection in tact?”

“I see your point.”

Aziraphale took a step back to assess his handiwork.

“It looks beautiful, Angel.”

“I think so too,” he said, reaching to smooth out a few branches. “But I don’t think it’s quite finished.”

“There is nothing else in the Christmas— in the space, Aziraphale.”

“I know. I just don’t see anything on there that reminds me of you.”

“Do you have to? It’s your tree.”

“Well, yes, but I like to think that we share this place, my dear. The tree should be for the both of us.”

What he didn’t say: _Because there would be no ‘home’ without you in it._

“I appreciate the thought, Angel, but I don’t exactly own any ornaments.”

“That’s quite alright,” he responded, scurrying towards an opened box. “I think I…ah yes, here it is.”

The angel reached into the box and produced a polaroid camera that looked as though it had seen better days. He shook it once, pausing to blow a thin layer dust from the lens. “What do you say we give this a try?”

“Figures,” said Crowley, smirking, “you would still be using bloody _polaroids,_ while the rest of the world has smartphones.”

“I am plenty clever without an intelligent phone, thank you very much. Now what do you say?”

Crowley threw up his hands in defeat. “Alright, Angel. Alright.”

“Good.” 

Aziraphale raised the camera as Crowley stepped in behind him, a smug smile playing across his features.

The demon snatched the camera from Aziraphale’s hands, raising it higher. “You’ve never taken a selfie before, have you?”

“…not to change the subject, but is that heinous word _really_ appropriate when the photo has two subjects?”

Crowley sighed, adjusting his angle slightly. “Just smile, Angel.”

And he did, for a moment. Just as the flash went off, Aziraphale shifted onto his toes, planting a warm and heartfelt kiss on Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley tensed and before he could even process the action, Aziraphale was holding a photograph in his hand, shaking it back and forth. 

“Yes, this will do nicely,” he said, positioning the photo among some sturdy firs. “Just lovely.”

Crowley was speechless. _So this is what it feels like to be loved by an angel? To be welcomed home from the cold and given a place among the lights and candles? To have someone to knit me sweaters and hold me close, always concerned about the cold and keeping it out._

In so many ways, coldness had defined Crowley’s life. Not only in the weather, but in the misguided belief that he himself was frozen— that kind words seldom emerged from his lips because his heart was not made for them. He’d had to be hard so many times that he worried he’d forgotten how to be warm and soft in the process.

But here he was, in a warm home and a cozy sweater, with Aziraphale looking up at him as though he might be a miracle. He no longer felt heartless. For he had always had a heart, it just lived in someone else’s hands.

“Crowley, are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, returning to his side. 

From the tree, Crowley’s smiling face stared back at him.

He nodded, allowing Aziraphale to weave their hands together. “‘m fine. I just never thought I’d have this.”

“What, a tree?”

Crowley quietly dropped his gaze to their linked hands and Aziraphale understood. _“Oh.”_

Aziraphale reached for Crowley, tugging on his sweater until Crowley relented and brought their foreheads together. “But you do have this now, Crowley. You have me, entirely.”

He nodded and their noses brushed together. “I do know that.”

“Good, because I need you to remember it, Dearest. Because I have trouble remembering sometimes, too.”

“You do?”

The angel nodded. “I do. And then you’ll go and do something so charming and sweet that I’ll forget to regret all those days I spent alone because in the end, those days led me here, to you.” 

Crowley said nothing, but burrowed his face in Aziraphale’s neck. Illogically, he wished that he could stay there forever, hiding his face and being held. But then he’d never get to see those eyes staring back at him when he rose.

“You should know, Crowley, that I thank God for you each and every day.”

“You never.”

“I do. In my own way. In fact, I believe I’ve done so at least twice today already.”

Crowley sniffed. “That’s very strange and sappy of you.”

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale said, bringing Crowley’s hand to his lips for a kiss.

Behind them, the Christmas tree glowed with warm white lights, illuminating strands of golden ribbon and more ornaments than one recovering pine tree could take. But it stood tall just the same. At the top, a barren branch sat waiting to be adorned.

“You know what?” Asked Crowley, swiping at his face with his sleeve, “we still need a tree topper.”

“Oh, yes. In the box behind you, you’ll find a star…”

“Nope,” Crowley said, his voice full of conviction. “No star. We need an angel.”

Aziraphale’s smile turned suspicious. “I don’t have an— ”

“Come here!” Crowley exclaimed, throwing his arms around the angel’s waist. “You’re going on the top!”

"Crowley! What are you--"

"You said it yourself, Angel; you like to be on top."

 _"CROWLEY!"_ Aziraphale laughed, although he did not entirely want to. 

“Crowley, stop that! I am not!” He lunged away from him, landing ungracefully on the couch.

“Yes, you are! Come on Aziraphale!” Crowley pleaded, pulling at his arm. “I know how you like to be adored.”

“Stop that!”

“Admired…”

“No!”

“I could decorate you with tinsel.”

Aziraphale yanked Crowley onto the couch with him, and the demon fell into his lap with a faint groan of defeat. Aziraphale tucked a loose strand of hair behind Crowley’s ear before bringing their lips together in a kiss. 

Crowley sighed at the contact, pressing closer. 

_If this is how holidays with Aziraphale are going to go,_ he thought, _then I will have to get used to his ridiculous sentimentality._

Somehow, he doesn’t think he will.

The couch, they thought, would be a welcome place to settle in for the evening. It reminded them both of the way they used to sleep there together before either one of them knew the weight of their actions. Now they held one another, basking in the warmth of their shared blanket and the Christmas tree glow. Aziraphale stroked Crowley's hair until he fell asleep, and couldn't help the affection that came over him when the demon began to gently snore.

Eventually, one of them managed to rise and place the star atop the tree without waking the other.

And eventually, the other awoke and replaced it with an angel. It may have been a bit old, having been dug out from the bottom of a crawl-space box, but it was undoubtedly a classic. Although, in Crowley’s humble opinion, it paled in comparison to the real thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that decorating the tree is my favourite part of Christmas??
> 
> Also, Aziraphale should definitely have his own home decorating show.


	3. Christmas

“Crowley, I can’t sleep.”

Crowley forced an eye open and tapped his phone on the nightstand. It read 11:25pm.

The angel nestled closer, whispering into the demon’s ear. “I want to open your present.”

“Angel— it’s not even technically Christmas yet.”

“Yes, but I’ve been doing quite a lot of thinking on the subject—“

“—there’s a shock.”

“I shall ignore that.” He wrinkled his nose in a rather sanctimonious manner. “And I have come to the conclusion that the very human tradition of opening gifts on the 25th of December was shortsighted.”

“Was it now?”

“Yes. One which was intended as a distraction from Saturnalia and a way to corrupt the poor pagans. SO, bearing that in mind, we really needn’t beholden ourselves to their standards.”

Crowley’s brows shot up. “Beholden? Really?”

Aziraphale sighed. “You know how I detest impropriety.”

“Has something happened? Am I in a Jane Austen novel?”

“Crowley—”

“I’ll alert the butler— tell him we intend to observe Christmas, post-haste!”

“So this means you’ll do it?”

“Do what, Angel?”

He took the demon’s hand. “Come and open gifts with me.”

“You do realize that if we do this now, you’ll have nothing to open tomorrow?”

“I do.”

“And you’re ok with Christmas being over on December 24th?”

“The present portion of it, yes.” 

Crowley rubbed his eyes, stretching his legs one final time in defeat.

“You know, afterwards, we could always fall asleep on the sofa by the tree? With all the lights and the decorations…it could be romantic.”

“Right,” Crowley snorted, “I’m sure you’ll go right to sleep after your sixth cup of hot cocoa today.”

“Oh! You’re right! I’ll go make a fresh batch.”

The angel flew from the bed while Crowley watched; tired, bemused, and more than a little grateful.

“There you are,” Aziraphale said, pressing a steaming mug of cocoa into Crowley’s outstretched hand. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, taking a seat with his cup. “Now go on, open your present.”

His encouragement was hardly necessary. Aziraphale scurried over to the tree and retrieved two neatly wrapped boxes joined with a red ribbon.

They’d agreed to each give the other two presents after Aziraphale caught Crowley googling ‘how to fill a stocking.’ The demon had never participated in Christmas before, and had mistakenly deduced from subpar Christmas movies that a mountain of presents was a requirement, not a privilege.

Two, Aziraphale insisted, was more than reasonable.

“I wonder what this one could be,” Aziraphale mused, feeling the indentation of a book spine as he waved it high in the air.

Crowley shrugged, “no idea.”

By this point in time, the gift of a single book on Christmas had become a well established tradition. It had begun years ago, when Aziraphale first opened the shop. On Christmas Day, a book wrapped in simple brown paper would appear on his doorstep with no note or return address. It happened, on and off, for years. A rare edition here, a peculiar translation there. Back and forth without acknowledgement. Aziraphale knew the gifts were Crowley’s doing— of course he knew— but he could never bring himself to comment on it. If he did, the gifts might stop, and he couldn’t bear that. Those books, regardless of their inner nature, had all communicated the same message: Crowley is out there, he’s safe, and he still thinks about you.

The books still reside on a bookcase tucked away in the back of the shop, where the customers are forbidden to go.

Carefully, Aziraphale untied the ribbon and began peeling back the dark paper. Inside, the first edition of The Christmas Carol stared back at him in a brilliant red binding.

 _“Oh, Crowley—”_ He turned the book over in his hands, tracing a hand reverently along its edges. “You shouldn’t have.”

The demon shrugged, testing his hot cocoa. “It’s tradition.”

“Yes, but this…how ever did you find it?”

“I have my uses.”

 _Uses?_ Aziraphale mused. _Oh. He means the internet._

“It’s beautiful,” the angel declared, opening the front cover. “Just like all the other ones you’ve given me.”

“So you knew that was me, eh?”

Aziraphale shot him a knowing look. “Who else could it have been?”

His message was clear: who else knows me as you do?

“Well, I couldn’t let you go through Christmas without a book.”

Aziraphale beamed.

“You’d never stop talking, otherwise.”

“I am once again going to ignore that,” he informed him, with an undeniable fondness, “and open the other gift.”

“By all means.”

The second was packaged in a small wooden box secured with a bow. Aziraphale reached inside and produced a small metal device with a rotating lever. He gave it a few tentative turns and blinked in surprise to hear a faint melody of ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.’ 

“It’s that song I played for you,” Crowley said, craning forward with excitement. “The one that reminded me of us. I thought you could play it on nights when you can’t sleep. When I’m not around to—”

“I hope you’ll always be around.”

“Well, I — yes, me too.”

Aziraphale placed the music box and his new book gingerly on the end table, and went to Crowley. 

“Thank you, my dearest Crowley.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Crowley’s cheek, embracing him in a hug. “Thank you.”

Crowley held onto the angel’s dressing gown for as long as the angel held him, which was considerably long for a hug. Perhaps another custom of Christmas?

“I don’t know what to say,” Aziraphale confessed, sitting down beside him.

“Then have some cocoa— I know you want to.” Crowley handed him his (nearly) untouched cup.

“I’m afraid I do, rather.” He sat with it only for a moment before leaping to his feet once more. “Alright— now it’s your turn.”

Aziraphale returned to the tree and retrieved two presents, one large and one small.

“Which should I open first?” Crowley asked.

“The larger one, I think.”

Crowley didn’t have to be told twice. He tore into the wrapping immediately, laughing when the edge of a blanket flopped into his lap. “You’re always trying to keep my warm.”

“I am.” Aziraphale smiled. “How do you like the pattern?”

The black-and-white houndstooth was warm and attractive. At the bottom, ‘A + C’ had been stitched in a shade of Christmas red. 

“I love it,” he replied, already wrapping it around his shoulders. “Thank you, Angel.”

“Well, I had taken notice of the way you always disparage mine,” Aziraphale said, running a hand over his beloved tartan. 

“Yes, this one is much nicer,” Crowley said, teasingly. “And I like that this one is ours.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed, handing him his second gift. “Now please, open this one.”

The angel watched impatiently as Crowley reached into the package and produced a pair of black leather gloves. He threw his head back in laughter as he slid them on.

“What is so funny?” Aziraphale asked, his arms crossed in front of him. “I thought you would appreciate them, since you’re always complaining of being cold.”

“No, no, I do like them, really. It’s just— I spent _years_ procrastinating on buying gloves or mittens because every time I got cold you’d…”

Aziraphale’s lips parted in surprise. “…I’d warm your hands.”

At last the demon began to settle, with tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale sighed and took a seat next to Crowley on the sofa, resting his feet alongside the demon’s on the footstool. He took Crowley’s right hand in his and began working the glove off. “If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale worked on one hand and then the other, pressing warmth into them with his own. He placed his own head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, watching.

“So…did I absolutely nail Christmas, or what?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but smiled just the same. “Yes, my love; I think you did.” 

Once Aziraphale had completed his task, Crowley removed his new blanket from his shoulders and began spreading it over their legs and feet. 

The clock on the mantelpiece read 11:57.

“So…Christmas officially begins in just a few minutes; what will you do now that we’ve opened our presents?”

Aziraphale hummed. “Well, there’s the turkey. That should take some time. Beyond that…I’m content to sit here with you, like this. We can watch the tree and drink our cocoa and not move at all.”

“That could work.”

“Hey Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I really like Christmas.”

“Do you?” Aziraphale beamed, his arms wrapping around Crowley’s middle. “I’m so glad.”

“Yeah. I would have been sitting here wrapped in that hideous tartan thing, otherwise.”

Aziraphale scoffed, swatting at him playfully.

But then, he smiled. 

And that was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy [Late] Christmas, everyone! :D
> 
> I hope you had a lovely holiday!
> 
> I received something of a Christmas miracle this year. I have a loved one who has been in hospital since October (not from Covid), and I haven't been able to see them since then because of Covid restrictions. But restrictions on hospital visits have been somewhat relaxed for Christmas, so I was able to visit them for a few hours on Christmas Eve! It was magical. So this is why the Christmas chapter comes to you a little late-- I've been too happy to write anything. :)
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed this fic! Happy Holidays! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Hanukkah, y'all! And Happy December 10th! ;)
> 
> I definitely decided to start this now because of this auspicious day. I'm basically Buddy the Elf, running on sugar, Christmas spirit, and smiling constantly (because the idea of these two together on Christmas is just too good!)
> 
> Enjoy the insanity to come (:


End file.
